


Late

by KorrohShipper



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Peggy Carter is a BAMF, Steggy - Freeform, Steve Rogers is Always Running Late, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 06:58:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21316063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KorrohShipper/pseuds/KorrohShipper
Summary: Steve and Peggy’s relationship is marked by their punctuality—or the lack thereof.
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 82





	Late

** I. JEEP PROBLEMS**

* * *

Steve was no car expert, but he grew up in Brooklyn where dozens of fruit trucks drove over his street and he had more than his fair share of hearing car troubles. His hearing’s not as good as it was—not that it ever was—but he knew it well enough to be an engine sputtering and failing to start in ignition.

Thanks to Dr. Erskine fast tracking his enlistment, Steve found himself on a dirt patch on some odd army base camp in New Jersey. It was already half passed noon and the sweat started trickling down his forehead. At any rate, when the cold afternoon wind would come blowing, he’d end up with a cold that's enough to send him back to Brooklyn.

But the Drill Sergeant told them to wait in line, silent as a grave. 

He could hear the murmuring along the line. Some were complaining. “What’s this CO waiting for?” one enlistee piped up, looking far too smug for his own good. “The end of the war?"

The others in line broke in laughter and Steve couldn’t help but feel the anger bubble up. That wasn’t any way to treat a superior. 

“How about you show some respect and try to follow the orders for once?” the solider, who was far along the other end of the line stopped laughing. Steve could now feel the burning stares of other men and the glare directed at him.

“You got a problem, huh, pipsqueak?”

There was the grave tone that usually meant a beating that ended up with him more black and blue than his pale Irish skin tone unless Bucky stepped in. But there was no Bucky this time—the jerk was off fighting in the European theater without waiting for him.

Steve relented—he’d give him hell for that later. He had bigger priorities at the moment, one particularly standing out was surviving a beating.

But it seems, as the soldier broke from the line, a menacing glare directed at him, hell would come sooner than he thought—

There was now a jeep, stopping abruptly near the end of the field and a dame—the most beautiful one he’s laid his eyes on—stepped out. The driver looked apologetic, winced sheepishly, probably muttering his excuses and apologies but the officer paid him no mind.

“Recruits, attention!”

She walked over to them, chin held high and toughness that radiated well enough that told him she wasn’t to be messed with. “Gentlemen, my name is Peggy Carter.” She spoke with a crisp and clear English accent and she surveyed the line. “I supervise all operations for this division.”

The soldier who had been loud earlier, fell back into line. He looked like he was fighting a snicker. “What’s with the accent, Queen Victoria? Thought I was signing up for the US army.”

Steve saw a few other soldiers crack a smile. Instead, he bit back a frown. 

But the agent wasn’t at all fazed. “What’s your name, soldier?” she didn’t miss a beat.

“Gilmore Hodge, your majesty.” There was another snicker.

Agent Carter eyed the man attentively, taking a step back. Steve could easily see how Hodge was bigger by a foot and not an inkling of reservation was found in her voice when she spoke up, “Step forward, Hodge. Put your right foot forward.”

Hodge was still smirking. “We gonna wrassle? ‘Cause I got a few moves I know you’ll like.” Steve saw Agent Carter smile poisonously for a brief second before pulling back her fist and punched Hodge right in the nose, causing him to fall down to his feet and flat on the ground.

The other soldiers blanked. They traded looks and paled as she continued.

Steve realized, at the moment, the he liked Agent Carter even if she was late.

* * *

** II. CAR RIDES **

* * *

Steve ran as fast as he could towards the end of the curb, hoping to beat Agent Carter to the—

“You’re late, Private.”

There she stood, just by the door of the car that was going to take them to the Brooklyn facility that held the laboratory for Project Rebirth. She didn’t looked pleased—her lips were pursed into a thin line and her eyes were narrowed into slits. 

“I’m sorry, Agent Carter.” He said truthfully, looking bashful. “I ran a little bit too late.” He looked away, trying to ignore the crick in his neck.

“I hope you’re going to change your outlook towards punctuality—or your lack thereof.” He tried his best not to wince but she noticed how red his neck flushed. Her eyes narrowed, but this time in concern as they slid inside the back of the car. “Am I going to have to report you for rowdiness or are you going to tell me what happened to your neck?”

By now, there was no denying the growing swelling that crept just into the base of his collar and rested well into his shoulder blade, which he’s pretty sure is broken right now. “It’s nothing serious, Agent Carter.” He tried for a smile but even that was weak and unconvincing. “Just a little parting gift from my regimental brothers.”

“One that includes infighting?”

He whistled low as the trees of New Jersey slowly transitioned to the brick buildings of New York. “Private Hodge likes to call it a friendly roughing.” He craned his neck at the growing buildings of metal and bricks and liked to think he was home. “It wasn’t very friendly.”

Agent Carter shot him a wry look and nodded tersely, a hint of admiration in her voice. “Clearly.”

He shrugged, reflexively. “Not my first rodeo, anyways, ma’am.”

That piqued her interest. 

“I know this neighborhood. I got beat up in that alley. And that parking lot,” the car drove by another building and recognition lit up in his eyes. “And behind that diner.”

“Did you have something against running away?” there was an undeniable softness in her tone that resonated deep within him. Like she knew exactly what he was feeling.

Instead of calling her out on that, he gave her a small smile. “You start running they’ll never let you stop. You stand up, push back,” he glanced at her and found nodding deeply in understanding. “Can’t say no forever, right?”

She gave him a small smile. “I know a little of what that’s like.” She admitted, her voice a bit lighter and heavier at the same time, like it was a long time ago but still sat fresh in her mind like an open wound that refused to truly heal.

“I guess I just don’t know why you’d wanna join the army if you’re a beautiful dame. Or a beautiful. . .” his mind scrambled and he panicked before weakly finishing, “—a woman. An agent, not a dame. You are beautiful, but. . .”

Agent Carter looked over to him with a look of amusement and fondness. “You have no idea how to talk to a woman, do you?”

_No ma’am_, he wanted to say. The opportunity to speak with women that seemed to present itself regularly with Bucky, it seems, always ran a bit late with him.

* * *

** III. MORNING MEETINGS **

* * *

Nothing good comes from being late.

Steve huffed out a breath of air he had been holding in, not bothering to give Howard Stark a moment of his day as the genius had a manic gleam in his eyes that could only mean bad things.

“Pal, what on earth did you do?”

Steve tried his best stop his eyes from lingering on the doors that Peggy had exited from, but it was futile. “I was late.” He kept staring anyway.

Intrigued, Howard scooted over to his spot. “I know that the good Agent Carter frowns upon tardiness, pal, but I doubt that she would empty a clip at America’s new hope.” There was a lightness to his voice, granted, a witty quip that was meant to tease him but there was an underlying uneasiness to it. Like he was scared.

_As he should_, Steve thought to himself._ As they all should._

“Nothing good comes from being late,” he said carefully, a bit breathless as he finished, but his efforts were in vain—Howard caught on to whatever deeper meaning he had implied.

“Steve, buddy, what did you do?”

He felt himself flush a deep score of red as his eyes widened. “It’s not what _I_ did—“ his tone was an octave higher, more similar to a squeak. Howard simply raised a brow at him until he sobered up, “—it’s more of what _she_ saw.”

At first, there was a long, pregnant pause that seemed to draw a deafening ringing silence to his ears and Steve would have lied if he said he didn’t prefer the teasing.

Howard leaned in closer with a suspicious eye and squinted at his face. Steve felt self conscious and scooted away when Howard gave an audible dramatic gasp, his lips pointed to an upward smirk. “Is that a tinge of red I see on your lips, pal?”

Immediately, his own eyes widened and Steve tried to rub the back of his hand against his mouth but it was far too late—the damage had been done and Howard had a slacked jaw, staring at him as he tried to wipe the remaining lipstick off.

“It’s not what you think,” he said defensively, still in a rushed panic. 

But Howard rolled his eyes and gave him—unhelpfully so—a bellowing chuckle before grabbing his wrist, examining the smeared lipstick that stained the back of his hand. “Huh,” he mused thoughtfully, “Too light to be Montezuma.”

Steve looked at Howard with confusion. “_Montezuma_?”

Howard waved him off and examined his increasingly growing clammy hands. “Montezuma Red—or Victory Red, as Agent Carter calls it.” Still, he shot Howard a look of help and the genius groaned. “Her favorite shade, and this ain’t it, pal.”

“How’d you know?”

Howard gave a pleased laugh. “Well, Steve, when you’ve been around with enough women, you get to know this things—like how you get it off your face just in time before the next adventure comes knocking.”

Steve’s lips curled downwards and wrinkled his nose in distaste. “You really need to respect women more, Howard.”

“Oh, buddy, trust me—I do,” expectantly Steve leaned in forward to see a form of actualized realization only to find him smirking. “They get a nice little diamond bracelet souvenir as a token of my respect.”

“Howard, I’m serious.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he was waved off before a look of victory lit up onhis face. “I got it! Rose Red, and only one woman wears that shade at our fine base and that’s Private Lorraine.”

The look of stunned silence was enough to pacify Howard’s questioning look. “So, how’d you get in that pickle?”

Gravely, he turned to face Howard. “I was running late, the meeting already began and Private Lorraine, well, she cornered me.”

Surprisingly, Howard remained silent for a passing moment, like he understood how Private Lorraine, a woman of 5'4" managed to corner him and pin him down to kiss him, an experimental super soldier. “You want to make up for it?”

Steve dropped all pretense of pretending not be hopelessly in love with Peggy Carter and nodded eagerly. “How? I’m willing to do anything.”

Howard tossed an arms around his shoulder. “Well, first, you got to swipe that wax clean off your face,” Steve instinctively rubbed his hand against his lips.

“And the second?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking of grand gestures, see? A film crew’s all we need and a picture of Peggy inside—hey, you still use that compass, right? Yeah, her picture inside your compass and that shield of yours, we ain't taking out those bullet marks. . .”

* * *

** IV. BELATED BIRTHDAY PRESENTS **

* * *

Steve tried his best to be silent, but the floorboards beneath him creaked under his weight and gave a traitorous sound. 

A look of white, pale shock and fear flashed across his face but he managed to get across the bullpen without managing to alert the circling guards who checked the perimeter of the SSR field office in the middle of camp grounds. There was a nagging voice that piped up in the back of his head that unsurprisingly sounded a lot like Bucky telling him to just do it first thing in the morning.

But he couldn’t do that because it wouldn’t be right. 

Reaching his destination, which was a modest looking desk with the stationary neatly arranged at the side and a nameplate at the edge that read, in gold letters, “Agent Margaret Carter”.

With great caution, Steve retrieved a small, parcel, carefully wrapped in the least wrinkled newspaper he picked up, and placed it carefully on the desk.

The tip of his tongue was sneaking out and his toes were curling up inside his boots as he placed the present on the desk when a flash of light filtered from the blinds and he froze like a dear in headlights.

“Steve?”

The familiar crisp, English drawl of his name reached him and his shoulders tensed up. Gently plopping down the gift, he turned around carefully and plastered on his best smile when Peggy turned on the lights.

Weakly, he blushed before greeting, “What’re you doing here?” he tried to start the conversation casually but she obviously wasn’t having it.

Peggy blinked in surprise. Finding him in the bullpen was obviously something she wasn’t anticipating. In truth, she would have expected a nosy Hydra mole trying to steal off information more than Steve Rogers flushed red all over. But there he was, in his unfaltering 6’1” frame by her desk with an unfamiliar parcel in the dead of the night.

“What am _I_ doing here? I work here!” she gave an incredulous whisper, “What are  _you _doing here?”

Letting his shoulders fall, he stepped to the side and gave a weak smile. “Happy birthday.”

Peggy stared at him. “It’s a half past midnight.” And it was, Steve knew.

He had just returned from a recon scouting mission by the enemy line that turned into an impromptu rescue mission. He wasn’t supposed to be long but a bunch of fumbled up attempts to make it back coupled with some enemy soldiers spotting him, it was easier said than done. He had, after all, a very recognizable shield.

There was a clock on the wall. It was 12:36, signifying that it was already April 22, 1944.

Her birthday was April 21. That was yesterday.

Steve missed Peggy’s birthday.

“I was supposed to get back earlier.” He explained. “But things happened.”

Peggy have him a relaxed smile. “Oh, I know all about your little adventure today—the very reason as to why I’m still here at the office drafting up your report.”

“Oh,” he deflated. “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to—er, for that to happen.” Then he remembered the present he got her. “Also, I’m sorry I’m late.”

Her features soften and she stepped closer. “Oh, Steve, there’s nothing you could possibly apologize for—you helped save lives today, never be sorry for that.” Her eyes then teetered towards the box. “Now, tell me what you’ve brought me.”

Picking up the enthusiasm he had earlier, Steve picked it up from her desk and handed it over. “Nothing fancy, just some things I picked up on the way.”

Steve watched Peggy as she carefully tore through the wrapping and lifted the cover only to give a small, almost inaudible, “_Oh_.”

There was a moment of panic that surged through him. Was it a good _oh_ or a bad one?

“If you don’t like it, I can always get you a different gift or—“

Peggy smiled at him, warmly, with tears in her eyes. “No, it’s beautiful.” He felt himself relax and let go of a breath he had been holding in. 

He stepped closer to see the content of the box he’d packed earlier that day—a couple of nylon stockings, a pair of warm gloves, a small packet of Quality Street chocolates, and a tin of loose leaf PG Tips.

And the pièce-de-résistance that glued them altogether was a quick sketch of their first mission: an unapproved backdoor mission to Austria without any of their CO's blessing while they were being piloted by Howard Stark into deep enemy territory in a hostile airspace. 

“You like it?” he asked dubiously, his voice unreasonably small.

“Darling, I love it.” It took all of his power not to beam up and down and he settled for the giddiness that bubbled inside him. She had called him darling and that was more than he could ever hope for. 

“Well,” he began sheepishly, a growing confidence in each breath he took looking at her, “I knew I couldn’t just give you a simple gift after being so late.”

Peggy pretended to muse over it, a hand cupping her chin thoughtfully. “Well, you were late,” she mocked disappointment but a light sparkled in her eyes that glowed with her. “I suppose we can pass it up for now.”

“Happy birthday.”

She smirked. “You’re still late. My birthday was yesterday, soldier.”

He paused for a moment and smiled. “Belated happy birthday, Agent Carter.”

* * *

** V. PICK-UP POINT **

* * *

Peggy woke up to a set of warm arms posted at the edge of her cot.

“Up and at them, soldier.” She croaked and immediately the man sat up, wide eyed with his hair sticking all over. She wanted to laugh but the thought of any form of vibration coursing through her shoulder sent a deep pain that sent her groaning back to the linens and pillows.

But still—she would have given just about anything for a camera to capture that one moment where Steve Rogers looked like he had been visited by the holy ghost.

“Peggy,” he sobered up, breathing loudly. “You’re up.”

“Yes, my shoulder’s been particularly cheeky.”

Steve blinked at her. “You were shot.” He said carefully.

“Evidently,” she replied, noting the pain as she tried to move her arm. “Had the pain not been enough, the stylish wrap of bandage certainly help put the injury into place.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I was shot."

Steve shook his head. “Is there anything you need?” he fumbled as he stood up, grabbing a glass of water from the cart adjacent to the nightstand.

“Oh, thank you.” He pushed up the straw until it met her lips and he only breathed easier when Peggy relaxed into the bed.

“I’m sorry I was late.” Peggy blinked at first, confused, but he continued. “If only The Howling Commandos and I got to the meet up point earlier, then you wouldn’t have gotten shot.”

Peggy’s found herself nodding. “You’re late.” She echoed and Steve further bowed his head in what she seemed to identify as guilt and shame. “Well, at least you know you’ve mucked it up.”  Steve’s eyes darted towards her and his eyebrows furrowed together. Now, he was the one confused. “Now, I suppose, that you’ve learned of your mistakes, I hope you would be adequately early for our dance?”

Peggy truly wished she had a camera to capture how Steve’s face flushed an entire shade of pink.

Late indeed.

* * *

** VI. DATE **

* * *

It was only after Germany had surrendered, when she was ordered to fly back to England when she decided to go to the Stork Club. 

Despite her bravado, asking Steve not to be late, she couldn't face it if she went there all by herself and exit through those same doors alone without him by her side. But she found, as she was tasked with leaving the country that she now held dear to her heart because of a certain Captain who loved it with all his being, she could not leave the city without trying to go to their date.

So there she she was, sitting close by to one of the counters of the bar, ordering a neat whiskey on the rocks. She had been late, not just with the date, but along with the time. As the SSR began packing up their New York office to move into a more suitable building for their covert intelligence work, it took up more time than expected and she found herself running late for a date that she never went to anyways. 

Peggy sipped on the drink and wished, with all her being, that he would walk through those doors and smirk at her, holding his hand out with a twinkle in his eyes. "What happened to eight o'clock on the dot, don't you dare be late, huh, Agent Carter?" he would tease before, like the gentleman he is, whisking her away to the dance floor. 

She could feel his hand linger on her waist, her eyes closed as she relished in the delusion she knew wouldn't last. 

The music played, and he spun her around, her in a blue dress and a corsage just pinned above her chest. "The war's over," he would say, whisper just to her ear, away from the prying people who would keep looking over their shoulders. "We could go home."

And when she opened her eyes, the music was gone, the lights dimmed and the janitor was already sweeping the dance floor. The bartender tapped on counter. It was time to go.

When she stood up and walked all the way to the doors, she gave the Stork Club one last wistful glance. "I'm sorry I'm late, my darling."

* * *

** VII. TIME TRAVEL **

* * *

When Peggy first met Phil Coulson, he explained, it was supposed to be in training when he was a junior agent and she was the director of SHIELD, not as a lost time traveler and her a strong-willed agent for the SSR. But there they are, in 1949, in New York huddled in her apartment as the agents of SHIELD—one day, her very own intelligence agency—prepared to travel back to their rightful place in time.

“It’s an honour to fight alongside you, Director Carter.” Phil shook her hand and met her eyes with a solemn nod. “I’ll see you in the 80’s, ma’am.”

Her eyes twinkled in amusement. “Ooh,  Director Carter—I rather like the sound of that.”

Behind them, Agent Simmons chuckled. “Gone are the days of coffee fetching, ma’am.” She teased, but there was a truth in her tone, especially when she sobered up. “I can see why the Captain fell in love with you.”

There was an audible silence that wrapped around the living room. Peggy sighed wistfully and gave a sad smile. “Is it safe to assume that, even in the future, my relationship with Steve Rogers is the best worst kept secret of the agency?” she tried to lighten the mood, but the damage was already done, she could imagine herself now, deep in the future, still holding a torch for the one she lost at sea.

Phil Coulson looked uneasy. "That and the stapler, ma'am." 

Agent Simmons flushed a deep red and exchanged looks with one Agent Fitz. They both had panicked looks. “Well, it’s better we get back,” Agent Fitz supplied rather swiftly. “The sooner we get back to 2023, the better—we can reestablish SHIELD and root out Hydra once and for all.”

That, inevitably, caught her attention. “Reestablish SHIELD, Hydra in my agency?” her tone, admittedly, was several octaves higher. “What exactly happened in the future?” Peggy was now growing more cautious than ever and wondered if her helping a group of time travelers with extensive knowledge of the small brainchild she nursed alongside Chet Phillips and Howard Stark was a terrible mistake. 

Her eyes narrowed down and took a step back, letting her eyes fall on the group of huddled agents before her. “What are you waiting for? Explain.”

Phil Coulson stepped forward, hands raised in surrender. “We haven’t been entirely truthful.”

Peggy was unamused. “Evidently.”

Phil winced. “But it was all to protect the timeline. In 2023, there was a battle that our team won, the Avengers won, but it’s only in one timeline out of over fourteen billion.”

“No.” She said simply and Phil Coulson looked confused. To remedy the situation, she pointed a pistol at them. “You hid a secret from me, telling me of the organisation I am to start only to tell me that it was compromised. Forgive me, agents, if I am suddenly wary of you.” Because that wouldn't be her, if she was to always guide SHIELD, she would rather shut it down than see it be compromised.

She would never let SHIELD get to the point where Hydra had dominantly compromised her agency.

It was in that moment of heat that brought her to a state of shock and anger with a terrible dose of disbelief. “Hydra was growing inside SHIELD and Steve Rogers exposed them.”

She couldn’t believe them. How could they, after all they’ve been through in the past week, exploit the obvious emotional compromised state she has when it came to Steve. “How dare you?” she said calmly through a whisper of gritted teeth. “How dare you even mention his name?! First you lie to me about SHIELD—“ it gave a painful ache in her heart that even his legacy, she couldn’t protect from Hydra, “—and then you make up some lie about Steve Rogers?”

No one dared answer until Agent Simmons raised her hand, inside her palm a strange device that showed a picture of Steve.

The long eyelashes, the mussed hair after he took off the helmet. Even the boyish, lopsided grin he had was all perfectly there and she knew in her mind it was a clone even if her heart said otherwise. Peggy found herself terrified—what kind of future is the world going to behold, creating clones of men who should now be resting in peace.

As if sensing her hesitance, Agent Simmons piped up, “Tap the screen—er, device. It’s a video. You’ll see we’re telling the truth.”

Her hand moved with a mind of its own. The pad of her finger landed on the screen and it vibrated beneath it as the picture began to move. “_JARVIS_," Peggy paused. It couldn't possibly be the same Edwin Jarvis. "_Start recording—hey fellas, today, we’re going to mess with Cap_.” A man in the video, who looked suspiciously like Howard Stark, chirped with a smirk that looked like it was often placed on his face. “_Hey, Capsicle! Watcha doing?_”

Steve hung around in a couch, his attention heavily buried in a small notebook he had in his hands before the man holding the camera snatched it off him. “_Oh, come on!_” Steve muttered indignantly, rising to his feet to follow the man. “_Lay off it, Stark!_” he said, but there was a smile on his face, to show that there wasn’t any real malice. The unmistakable Brooklyn drawl reached her ears and Peggy almost cried—she realized that she had forgotten the sound of his voice.

And when the shock wore off, Peggy automatically raised an eyebrow.  _Stark?_

“_Ooh, look at this_.” The camera panned towards the notebook and Peggy held in her breath. It was a sketch of her. “_It’s a drawing of Cap’s lady love—tell us, the entire internet, thus the entire world, what’s her name? Is she the sexy nurse Nat keeps telling us about?_”

The redheaded woman on the couch previously beside Steve gave a lazy smirk. Steve, however, frowned. “_It’s not Kate._” He muttered under his breath.

The man lightened up even more. “_Is it what’s-her-name from accounting?_”

“_Stark!_” Steve yelled, and it was obvious that it wasn’t just light teasing anymore. “_Give it back._” The notebook was thus snatched back by its original owner, who now retreated to another room.

“_What crawled up his ass and died?_”

Suddenly, a man from the ceiling dropped down and gave Stark a look. “_For someone practically raised by the former director of SHIELD, you’re sure as hell one lousy godson for not remembering her_.”

Stark's face now visibly fell. “_Wha—**oh**. That was Aunt Peg?_” he shuddered. "_I remember her more. . .**wrinkly**_."

The redhead now stood up. “_Now you understand why he’s all brooding and moony and sad at the same time? He met the love of his life only to crash his plane and wake up seventy years later_—“

Peggy froze and tapped the screen immediately. Agent Coulson now looked distressed. “Steve’s alive?”

“Yes.”

A burgeoning feeling of guilt built up in her. She told Howard to leave him alone, to stop looking for him but he’s still out there, alive and waiting for someone to come for him and be rescued. “I–oh, God, I have to get Howard.” Peggy almost felt her knees give. All this time, Steve was alive.

All that time, they could have brought him home. None of that mattered; better late than never.

Only before she could reach the phone, Agent Fitz’s hand was slammed against the device. “You can’t.”

Her eyes narrowed. “If you are thinking that I am unable to subdue you, Agent Fitz, then you are in for a terrible awakening.”

“While Captain Rogers was found alive in the ice in the future, he was in terrible condition—modern machines kept him alive, technology you do not have.”

Agent Simmons side-stepped and looked apologetic. “Also, the currents and the landscape is dynamic, they keep changing. You won’t get a definitive and accurate coordinates until the late 90’s.”

“But it’s better than leaving him in the cold!”

No one dared answer her back. “It is when it’s supposed to be this way.”

“What? Am I supposed to follow some omnipotent script as if my life depended on it, even when I could do something to change the future and make it a better one?”

“It won’t be the one timeline where we won.”

“Then I suggest you _find_ a way to win with changing the timeline.”

It was in that moment where Phil Coulson gave up. “Show her the picture.” Agent Simmons looked conflicted but followed orders nonetheless. “You want him back, I understand. I saw him go through the exact same phase, but what I’m about to show you is your future—and if you just wait, it’s one week away.”

The strange futuristic device—a phone, apparently—was then deposited in her hands. It was a poignant family portrait, two young children and an infant swaddled in a bundle of cloth safely being peered into by the father, a man who was without a doubt Steve Rogers.

Peggy then found herself staring at the photograph and realized who it was that held said infant, who smiled proudly into the camera. It was none other than Peggy Carter, albeit a few years older than herself.

“He’s coming back—he’ll make a choice, right after his final mission. _You_ are his choice.”

It was that final, parting message that she carried with her until the end of that week and to the next, where the clock seemingly began to get slower by the passing minute as it neared midnight. 

The week Phil Coulson had promised had come and nearly is about to pass and there was still no sign of Steve Rogers.

Inevitably, the clock chimed, signalling the start of a new day and a painful pang in her chest made itself known when someone began to knock gently on her door.

Willing herself to stand up, Peggy pulled on the door and was rewarded by the sight of a man she thought she would never see again. Her emotions seemingly emboldened, her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. 

“You’re late, soldier.”

There was a wet laughter from Steve, one who looked weary and tired and exhausted from battle. But he nodded all the same, readt to come home.

“I know. I’m sorry I’m late.”

“Punctuality never did become us, yes?”

* * *

** +1 PEGGY'S LATE **

* * *

Steve managed to flag down a decent corner booth with an uninterrupted view of the door in the newly opened, swanky bistro that Howard raved about and recommended in the area. 

It was by some stroke of extraordinary luck that Angie Martinelli—Steve gaped, “You know the Angie Martinelli?!”—an up-and-coming actress who slowly began to make a wave within the industry, had a free day and volunteered to babysit their children, Anne and James, to have a long overdue date night.

For the first time in their entire relationship, Steve found himself giddy and shaking with unadulterated pride because he was finally early. 

People were probably giving him weird looks as he kept grinning at the ornate, golden clock that hung in a wall and marked down the minutes that had passed, noting and relishing in every passing second Peggy ran late.

It was petty, Steve acquiesced, but he’s only human. He deserved this win. After all those years of being late, he was finally early.

Only after a few more minutes did Peggy walked in through those doors. The maitre was trying to assist her, but she craned her neck around to spot him, and when their eyes met above the hustle and bustle of it all, they smiled at one another, giving themselves a leisurely moment to take one another in and be a normal couple.

Peggy made her way to their table, in her hand was stylish paper bag from an uptown department store. “You’re early, my darling,” she unwrapped herself from the heavily lined coat and gently folded over her scarf as he stood up and got to her side, gently pressing a kiss on her lips and pulled the chair for her.

He smiled, a twinkle in his eyes. “Yeah, a good ten minutes, too.” Unable to stop himself, he smirked. “And _you’re_ late.”

She paused, for a moment. Steve thought that maybe the joke wasn’t in good taste but Peggy laughed that same melodic laugh that managed to get his insides get all tied up in a bundle. “Yes, darling, I am.”

Steve took the leather-covered menu and placed it near Peggy’s side as she took her seat across him. “It’s been so long since we had a date—we could even go dancing!”

Peggy looked up from the menu, her eyes held a touch of tenderness. A look of undeniable, and different kind of fondness in her face. “Steve, darling, I’m late.”

He shook his head and grabbed her hand from across the table. Indulgently, he pressed a soft kiss on the back of her hand. “I know!” he chuckled, still reeling in from his small victory.

But Peggy shook her head and withdrew her hand. He frowned at the sudden loss. “No, darling, I’m _late_—“ and then it clicked on him, where her hand went to fix itself below her stomach, just nursing in it her palms, a small but noticeable bump now made known.

Her eyes held, not just tenderness, but a glassy mist. 

Steve couldn’t breath at first. He just stared at her. “You’re—“ she nodded, not really needing to hear him finish. “You’re late,” he finished in small shock, the word leaving him breathless.

Peggy nodded quickly. “I’m pregnant, Steve. We’re having another one!” she unable to hide the jump in her voice, the happy tears that teetered over her eyes.

He, too, was unable to stop himself from remaining seated—like a man on a mission, he quickly left his side of the booth to get to hers, and immediately, as if his life depended on it, took her into his arms.

Steve thanked his lucky stars for the partial privacy that the corner booth afforded as he peppered his wife’s face with small kisses.

They marveled at one another, settling in their arms when Peggy gave him a teary laugh. “I’m late,” she breathed out.

Unable to help himself, Steve leaned down and pressed his lips firmly against hers, not at all caring that they were in an upscale restaurant. For all he cared, kissing his wife was every bit worth the risk of being slapped with a charge of public indecency.

When they broke apart, there was lightness in both of them that couldn’t be explained or denied. It gave a soft twinkle in their touches that made everything show itself in a new light.

Unable to help himself, he twirled his fingers and wove it into hers before pressing the back of her hand against his cheek. It felt right, just being with her—and now with their unborn little one.

“I’m never gonna get it easy, am I?” he asked, cheeky with a grin and eyes rimmed with happy tears.

Peggy raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Chance would be a fine thing, darling. But for transparency’s sake, never.”

Steve hummed in approval. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

**Fin**.


End file.
